Second Chances
by CinnamonBones
Summary: Perhaps Captain Nicholls didn't die when he was shot. Perhaps someone found him and helped him. When a very unique young girl finds him close to death and saves his life, Nicholls is given a second chance at life, and a new task; to protect the little girl like she protected him. Try it? I'm rubbish at summaries xD
1. Chapter 1

I just love Tom Hiddleston! His acting was impeccable in War Horse (as usual) and I cried when he died. His face... was just... ;A; Well, I hope you enjoy!

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Captain James Nicholls saw the barrel of the machine gun turn towards him, and from that second, he knew his life was close to an end. He felt his entire being numb as fear took over. It was hopeless. Death was inenvitable. He was going to die. The fear tore at him, and he could not more his eyes from the barrel of that gun. The thrum in the air and the noises of death were suddenly muted; all Nicholls could hear was his own breath and his rapid heart, pounding in his chest as if it wanted to escape. His head was hot, the fear prickling in his skull.

And then the fire.

It shot through him once, twice, three times. He fell backwards off of Joey, his heartbeat slowing, his breaths coming faster. Around him was a blur; he paid it no attention - all there was to him was the fire, the fire, the fire. It burnt deeper into him, scalding him, scarring him. He was going to die. And then; darkness.

...

He opened his eyes in immeasurable pain, lying in his own blood. Gasping for breath, he clutched at the ground, his fingers sinking into the crimson-stained mud as he felt his life drain away. Death lurked on the edges of his vision, reaching its icy fingers towards him.

He was burning, but cold, so cold at the same time. The world was silent except for his breath and heartbeat pounding slower in his ears; his eyes fixed upwards on the sky, as dark and grey as the ground was red and slick. Rain began to fall, pouring down onto the young captain, soaking him and freezing him to the bones.

That was, until the umbrella came over him. A small figure, kneeling in his blood next to him, pressed warm fingers to his neck with one free hand, the other hand holding an umbrella.

"A...m... I... d...dea...d...?" Nicholls struggled with his tongue and lips forming the words, but he got them out eventually, no matter how broken they, and his voice, were.

The figure let their fingers drop from his neck, and rested their palm on his forehead.

"You are but lying in your own grave," responded the voice, cool and matured for the size of the figure, and definately feminine. Feminine and English.

"T...h..e... the... o...th...er...s...?

"You and I are the only living in this field of Death's."

Nicholls felt a tear run down his cheek, but did not have the energy to wipe it, or even move his fingers. The girl wiped it away for him, then stuck the umbrella quite firmly in the ground so as to cover the captain's face and top half from the rain while she examined the rest of him.

From under an old fashioned cloak she pulled a variety of bandages, needles, threads and bottles, placing them carefully under the umbrella. From the corner of his eye Nicholls noticed with a start that one of the bottles was disinfectant, and hoped that the girl would not reach for that bottle.

She pulled out a small knife, cutting his jacket and shirt off him. There was a sigh and a tut, and the girl ran her fingers gently over the broken and bleeding flesh.

"You've been shot twice in the shoulder, once on your hip. The shot narrowly avoided any major organs; you should live tonight if you don't die of blood loss first. I am awfully sorry, but I am afraid I will have to disinfect it to ensure that no infections take root."

Nicholls gave an unaudiable whimper. Disinfectant on open wounds was not the nicest thing after being shot and falling off a horse - even so, it was not generally nice anyway!

The girl picked up the dreaded bottle and poured some into a small cloth. She screwed the top of the bottle on tightly, the rested it next under the umbrella again. She didn't bother to warn Nicholls it would hurt; she assumed correctly he was aware, and instead took his hand and gave it a little squeeze. Nicholls squeezed his eyes shut, and the girl began to dab and his shoulder.

It burnt like acid, and he clenched the girl's hand so hard he feared he might break it. The girl continued dabbing, and after a few more seconds, she gave a little nod, flipped the cloth in half with her one hand, and began on the wound near on his hip. It burnt like hell, and he was glad when she gave the same nod and put the cloth back under her cloak and pulled out another. She mopped his face from the grime and mud, then let the rain soak the cloth and rested it on his forehead.

Gently wriggling her hand out from his, she scooted closer to his head and supported his from below his neck.

"I need you to sit up so I can bandage you. Do you think you can?"

Nicholls tried, but his body didn't move as he wanted it to, and he stayed on the ground.

"N...o..."

The girl simply nodded.

"That's fine, that's fine. Just rest, then. I'll bandage as best I can."

She began bandaging, first his shoulder, then his hip. After a few minutes of scrambling under him with the bandages and wrapping back around, miraculously keeping the bandages spotless, the girl sat back and admired her work with a small smile.

She slid his jacket off and under from him, cutting it where needed, but stitched his shirt back together over the bandages as best she could. Then she cut up his jacket and stitched together a sling, putting the rest of the jacket into a good sized backpack that she slung over her shoulders. She put all the bottles, spare bandages, needles and threads away into small pockets in the cloak and a belt that circled her waist.

"I do hate to hurry you, but I will need to move you to a safer place. Soon the ones who caused this will begin to look for survivors themself, and I am armed with only a knife and a few needles, and you need to heal."

"Al...right...," began Nicholls, "I... wi...ll... t...ry..."

The girl picket up the umbrella, and walked around Nicholls to his good shoulder, and put her arm under his to support him as best as her petite frame could. Nicholls half sat himself upright and was half dragged upright by the girl, then with trembling legs managed to find his feet and stand up. He leant heavily on the girl, even though she was over a head shorter than him, though taller than he originally suspected.

As he hobbled along, he did his best to not look around him at his fallen comrades, men he had laughed with, drunk with, wished good health to. Minutes dragged by, and then the girl swore quietly under her breath and pulled Nicholls down quickly. He fell on her, but before he could apologise she put a hand over his mouth and a finger over his. _Don't speak_, whispered her eyes.

Two German voices were heard coming closer. They sounded drunk.

"Mädchen!" They called. "Mädchen! Girl! Ve saw you! Come out!" They fired a few shots and laughed drunkenly.

The girl held her breath as the came closer, firing in the air. They would see them and shoot them. She had no choice. She turned around silently, still hidden but now facing the Germans, and pulled two small, sharp knives out. She held one in each hand, and focused on her targets. She had one shot; if either missed, if one German remained, her hiding place would be revealed.

She threw the knives and they cut through the air, slicing into the necks of the Germans. They fell to the ground with soft thumps, and the girl sighed. Nicholls stared at her, startled by her deadly precision. She snuck out to the Germans and relieved them of two hand guns. Making sure the safety was on, she slid them into pockets in her cloak and put her arm under Nicholls' again, helping him up.

"Well, let's be off."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the reviews~! I appreciate it~! Here's another chapter~!

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When Captain Nicholls awoke, he was in a soft white bed, the duvet so very warm compared to the cold he had felt before. He had fallen asleep on the long walk, he realized, and made a mental note to thank the girl. Sitting up, he tried to lift his right arm, but found it wouldn't move, but hung limply from his side. A clean white sling rested on a table beside the bed, and he limped over to it and put it on himself, sliding his arm into it. It hurt to walk, but he grit his teeth and made his way over to the landing. He was on the second floor, he noticed, as he made his way painfully over to a banister. The house he was in was incredibly large from what he could see; so many doors, and more floors above and him. He heard the girl before he saw her.

She walked out from yet another door on the floor below, her arms crossed and her face bored. Now he could see her, he could accurately guess her age at around seventeen, and she was at an average height. She had long black hair, hanging down to her waist like shimmering silk curtains. Her eyes were, even at his distance, an unmistakably light blue, like the slight tinge of diamonds in the light. She had skin that was pale like porcelain, and she was petite. A long, pale blue dress floated around her, the bottom inches from the ground, and she was barefoot underneath. The long sleeves nearly covered her hands and her arms uncrossed and hung by her sides.

"Young mistress, why did you have to kill them?"

A worried-looking woman hurried out, her hair grey and her skin wrinkled like crunched up paper. Her hair was up in a tight bun, and she wore a black dress with a white apron tied around her waist. A cup of tea was in her hands, and she held it out to the girl.

"Hedda, must I repeat myself? They were a threat to myself and then man's safety. I could not - and certainly, _would _not - sit by as they shot us."

"But young mistress! You saved an English soldier, and killed two German soldiers. You might very well have waved a flag declaring your loyalty to the English!" She had a strong German accent.

"I would saved a soldier of either side; he was the only living and I intended to keep it that way." She took tea and sipped it. "Given the massacre I chanced upon - oh, Hedda, don't look at me like that! - I did not want another life wasted, be he a fool or not for taking part in this fool's war."

"Young mistress, I must highly-"

Someone knocked sharply on the door.

"They'll kill me! They'll kill you! All for that damned English-"

The girl opened the door and stepped back as three German officials stormed into the house. They slammed the door behind her and held their weapons tightly. One stepped forward.

"Young miss, vere is the Englishman? Ve vish to with him, talk."

The girl sipped her tea.

"Please do not lie in my house, and please put your weapons by the door."

The Germans stared at her, then slowly obeyed.

"Vere is the Englishman? Young miss, please do not play around viz us. Ve know you helped him and ve know you killed to Germans in doing so. Ve understand you are viz ze English now, and ve very kindly like to talk to ze man, and will spare you for all you have done for us."

The girl laughed and sat down in an armchair.

"I will not hand him over to die. Were you not aware of this before you came here? I believe you were, but simply wished for an excuse to kill me. I am also surprised you managed to get here without being seen. I congratulate you." She gave a slight bow of her head, and sipped her tea again. "Hedda, to your room."

Hedda gave a few quick curtsies to the Germans and the girl, and hastily made her way back the way she had came.

The girl looked at the Germans with a frightening look in her eyes. "Understand well, fools."

She took a sip of her tea.

"You fight and kill others for reasons you do not understand. You go to war for the sake of two fools who declare war on each other, for the sake of one fool shot dead. You go to war for the sake of two fools, in a school boy's quarrel. You are fools, fighting under fools, against fools. The two fools have dragged you all into their school boy's quarrel. But I ask, what is their right? What right are they given to do Time's job, to take the lives of fools under other fools? You kill a man because he wears another uniform and speaks another language. You are a fool, as are the rest. You'll give your life for the sake of a fool's war. I do not do so. I fight for the fool who pays me. No, that is incorrect. I _kill _for the fool who pays me. Whatever uniform that fool wears, whatever language he speaks. And it disgusts me. But I am not but another fool dragged into a fool's war. I am one who watches from the sidelines, watches the school boy's quarrel. I am the one who will kill for both sides, but also save lives for both. I am, what might be called, the equilibrium of this quarrel." The girl stirred her tea. "But now I own this one fool, and I shall not let him return to a fool's battle. I shall not let him die a fool's death. When this quarrel has burnt out, taking cities and lives with it, then I shall let him return to this world of fools. But until then, he is my fool, and with him you shall do naught. Is that clear?"

One of the Germans slowly pulled a knife out from his belt, hiding it behind his back, hoping that the girl did not noticed. Unfortunately, he wasn't very lucky.

A small knife whistled through the air and planted itself firmly in his throat. Another became great friends with the neck of the other German. The girl sprung up and held another knife at the throat of the German with whom she had been speaking with.

"C-Clear," whispered the German.

"I do very much hope so. It has been a pleasure, sir."

"T-The same to you, young miss. Ve are very sorry for ze inconvenience."

The girl smiled. "Oh, you should be."

Still with the knife at his throat, she pushed him backwards until she reached the door, then opened it, kneed him in the groin, and shoved him out the door. She closed the door with a sweet "Come again sometime~" and then locked it.

Hedda hurried back out, being careful not to look at the bodies as the girl reclaimed her knives and wiped them on their uniforms. She slid them back into the holders that were artfully hidden under her sleeves, then pressed a button by the door, and the bodies fell through whatwas now recognizable as a trap door.

"Hedda, I am rather hungry. Would you start breakfast?"

The old lady nodded and hurried off again, as the girl considered the floor. There was not a speck of blood on the white tiles. The trap door closed again and the girl began to walk upstairs. When she saw Nicholls on the landing, she considered him for a second, then walked over to him and put his arm over her shoulder to help support him.

"Now, you really should not be walking around. After the troubles I went to getting you upstairs! Hedda refused to help, grumpy old bat." She smiled as she said that, and Nicholls could tell she meant no harm towards Hedda. "But I suppose now you're up and walking you might as well come downstairs for breakfast."

After a few painful minutes, Nicholls and the girl were seated in a large dining room, the girl at the head of the table and Nicholls to her right.

"I suppose you heard my conversation with the Germans?"

Nicholls nodded.

"I might as well introduce myself, then. I am Elizabeth Walterson, more commonly known as Eliza, master assassin. I kill when people pay me, and save lives when people don't." She gave Nicholls a smile. "Please don't be mistaken; I am not a bad person. I just do what I must to survive in this world of fools. Would you introduce yourself please, sir?"

Nicholls took a breath.

"I am Captain James Nicholls," he replied, words coming easier after his sleep.

"Mr Captain James Nicholls, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," smiled Eliza, and she would have shook his hand had it not been in a sling. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized something, then with a slight smile called for Hedda. When the woman hurried in, Eliza murmured something to her in quick German, and Hedda nodded and hurried off again. Nicholls wondered with slight curiosity what she had said, but his curiosity disappeared when the smell of eggs and sausages wafted into the dining room. Hedda pushed a silver trolley into the room, laden with goods. She placed a plate of eggs and sausages in front of Eliza, and a plate in front of Nicholls. The silverware was already on the table.

"Please enjoy," smiled Eliza, and when Nicholls went to eat, he noticed with a small smile that the food had already been cut up for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for all the amazing reviews! To say thanks, here is the romance you have been waiting for!

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Eggs were incredibly hard to eat with your non dominant hand, as was holding a fork when you were used to holding it in the other hand, and both hands were still stiff from falling off of a horse.  
Nicholls half guessed that at least one finger on his left hand was broken, something he had realised after the searing pain through his hand when he picked up his fork.  
Eliza, never slow to notice something, swatted at his hand when he tried to pick the fork up again.  
"Please desist. I had to set three fingers which you had broken, and I fear the bone might have splintered. Heavens knows how you managed to do that. In either case, I am certain in the belief you should rest your hand. I had entertained the idea it might have mended quickly enough to be relatively painless to use, but I seem to have been mistaken."  
Nicholls gave a sigh and rested his now extremely tender hand on the table. His stomach grumbled at him, and he considered picking up the fork again and pretending it didn't hurt anymore.  
Eliza, the secret glutton she was, finished off her plate in a matter of seconds and shuffled her chair closer to Nicholls'. Her nimble fingers beat Nicholls' slow and painful ones to the fork, and she speared a piece of sausage and held it at mouth height for the young captain.  
Nicholls' face reddened, but Eliza smiled unassumingly at him.  
"I shan't have you starve, Captain."  
Eliza prodded at the air in front of Nicholls' mouth, and after swallowing most of his pride, Nicholls allowed her to feed him the contents of his plate.  
Eliza smiled and put the fork on the now empty plate.  
"Was that not easy?"  
"Miss-"  
"Eliza."  
Nicholls gave a little swallow. He was unused to informality with young women.  
"Eliza... You have my thanks. For everything."  
Eliza gave a genuine smile at that, and Nicholls almost felt like he had been shot again, right through the heart, but in a good way. He swallowed again, his throat suddenly dry, and reached for a glass of water.  
Eliza reached, too, and their fingers touched for what seemed like thousands of seconds, Eliza's burning their imprint into Nicholls'. Eliza, either noticing or choosing not to notice the blush that rose again to colour the young captain's cheeks, curled her fingers around the glass and held it to Nicholls' lips.  
"You wanted a drink, did you not?"  
Nicholls gingerly allowed her to help him drink, keeping his eyes cast low. Eliza gave a small smile, his tactic backfiring.  
"You have lovely cheekbones," she almost sung, brushing a thumb along them. "I do love to draw, but alas, my only model was only ever be Hedda. And bless her, but there was never much shape to her face."  
Each stroke along his face was like a brand. He tried to keep his voice steady.  
"You like to draw?"  
Eliza gave another smile, her head tilting sideways slightly.  
"Yes, I adore it. One of my favourite pastimes."  
Back and forth went her thumb, until she retrieved it and it stoked one last line that smoothed over the edge of his top lip. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his heart.  
Eliza had produced a comb and was behind him when he reopened his eyes. The teeth of the comb pulled soothingly over his scalp, the dancing trail of her fingers never far behind.  
"I suppose you don't want horrible knots when you finally regain use of one of your hands?" Eliza questioned, as she pulled the comb through his hair.  
"Quite right," Nicholls managed to reply.  
The comb left his hair and Eliza took her seat next to him again. Had he not before noticed how her eyes sparkled with such joy? And how her hair shone, lustrous like the black wings of a fallen angel?  
Before his mind could even comprehend what he was doing, he leant closer to her, his face edging nearer and nearer to hers. Her eyes widened as his lips touched hers, but she didn't move back.  
There was a flicking warmth against her lips, and she slowly let Nicholls' tongue in, creeping her hand around his neck to bury the ends of her fingers in his hair. Time seemed to span on for an eternity, and after a while, Eliza allowed herself to be pulled onto Nicholls' lap, wrapping her other arm around his neck as his arm encircled her waist. She was careful not to press on his right arm, still in a sling over his chest, as she pressed herself closer to him. This was entirely new to both of them, yet so natural it seemed it had been there the entire time.  
Was it not natural to fall in love with a girl who had saved your life?  
Was it not normal to yearn after a handsome soldier, whose life you held in your hands?  
Eliza considered the latter, her fingers tracing circles on the back of Nicholls' neck, drawing little shudders from him.  
Because she was indeed in love.


End file.
